The Stav Guard had no time to move before daggers of shadows pierced through his chest, spilling through his veins like pulpy, swollen branches over his flesh. Inky black dripped from the Stav’s eyes, robbing him of whatever lived in the marrow of his bones, whatever lived in the man’s heart.

It was more harrowing than slicing through flesh.

When the darkness pulled back, the Stav Guard slumped forward, eyes dull. As though the man had lost any desire to thrive, he slumped onto the grass, almost lifeless.

By the gods, was that what Skul Drek did? He was a phantom connected to souls—did his shadows rob the very life from a heart? Not dead, but hardly alive.

Somewhere in the tumult of darkness, I thought I might’ve screamed. Only at my fear did Skul Drek cease his attack. Almost like he’d gotten lost in his own viciousness, forgetting why he’d come at all.

Palms on the damp grass, I lifted my chin. The assassin held my gaze, fire and starlight. Roark. If I peeled away the darkness, the cruelty, the fear, I could almost make out the face of the man who’d stolen my heart.

“How—” Words cut off when hands hooked under my arms.

Roark—my Roark, solid and warm—tugged me to my feet. I shoved him away, but he encircled my waist.

“No. No.” Thoughts were spinning. I could not grapple with all I was seeing. More Stav approached, but Skul Drek seemed to be all places at once. Darkness blinded the guards, then his shadows struck their hearts, never drawing blood, only taking their essence, the soul that burned unique within.

Roark held me close. He was home, warm and solid, but my mind whirled with the truth, desperate to reconcile what I now knew.

All this time, Roark Ashwood had been the demon at the gates. He’d manipulated me, attacked me, he was made of darkness.

I tried to break his hold. He pinned me to his chest and shook his head, his eyes wild. Blood soaked his neck, and his breaths were heavy.

“Lyra.” Emi sprinted for us. She shoved at my back. “Not now. Go. They’re coming for you!”

Drums and the bellow of horns sounded an attack.

“Hurry. We can take a horse,” Emi cried. “Distract them until we reach the stables. Hold the connection, cousin. Hold it a little longer.”

Roark’s face contorted into a wash of pain, but he took my hand and sprinted after Emi, drawing us across the lawns toward one of the fenced yards for royal chargers to graze. Stav nearer to the outer gates bustled about, uncertain what was happening on the lawns.

Whatever pestilence came with Skul Drek dimmed the palace lawns in gloomy mists, as though a storm had descended around the royal house. It was difficult to see through the haze.

Roark stumbled. On instinct, I reached out to steady him.